Dawn painted the guildhall's stained-glass windows in blood and gold. Rowan stood before the quest board, bronze tag glinting at his throat. The air still carried last night's musk, but now it mingled with fresh bread and the metallic tang of armor oil.
A new parchment had been nailed dead-center, ink still wet:
> **RECOVER THE HEARTSEED**
> *Whispering Glade. Stolen by poachers. Reward: 50 gold + favor of the Dryad Queen.*
> *Party of four. Bronze or higher.*
Rowan's name was already scrawled at the bottom in Lira's elegant hand. Beside it: **Mira (scout), Thalyn (ranger), Kael (healer)**.
Mira appeared at his elbow, smelling of leather and mischief. "Morning, plow-boy. Ready to get your hands dirty?"
Thalyn joined them, bow slung, quiver rattling. The last member approached shyly: **Kael**, a half-elf healer with wheat-blonde hair and healer's robes that did nothing to hide the curve of hips. His cheeks flushed when Rowan's gaze lingered.
"First party quest," Kael murmured. "Try not to die. Or… spill early."
Rowan grinned. "No promises."
**The Road to the Glade**
They left the city on a cart pulled by a lazy mule. Mira rode up front, thighs gripping the bench. Rowan sat opposite Kael; every rut in the road pressed their knees together. The healer's scent—lavender and nervous sweat—made Rowan's cock stir.
Thalyn walked point, vanishing into the trees like green smoke. Hours later, she reappeared. "Glade's warded. Vines thicker than my arm. Something's *pissed*."
The Whispering Glade was a cathedral of living green. Sunlight filtered through leaves the size of shields. Moss carpeted the ground like velvet. But the air thrummed with tension.
Vines snapped shut behind them. A figure stepped from the trees.
The **Dryad Queen**.
Her skin was bark-smooth, dappled with emerald moss. Hair of living leaves cascaded to her waist. Breasts heavy with sap-sweet dew, nipples the color of fresh honey. Vines coiled around her thighs like lovers' hands.
"Thieves," she sang, voice like wind through reeds. "The Heartseed was taken. Return it, or pay in **essence**."
Mira stepped forward, palms open. "We're here to *retrieve* it, Your Majesty. But we'll pay a tithe." She glanced at Rowan, eyes gleaming. "His essence is… abundant."
The Queen's gaze fixed on Rowan. Vines slithered forward, brushing his crotch. His cock hardened instantly.
"All of you," the Queen commanded. "On the moss. Now."
**The Tithe**
The moss was warm, almost pulsing. The Queen gestured. Vines peeled clothing away like petals—Rowan's tunic, Mira's leathers, Thalyn's leggings, Kael's robes. Naked, they knelt in a circle.
The Queen straddled Rowan first. Her cunt dripped nectar that smelled of spring rain and crushed berries. She sank down slowly, inner walls rippling like living silk. Rowan groaned, hands gripping her hips. Vines wrapped his wrists, guiding his thrusts.
Mira crawled to the Queen's front, mouth latching onto a honeyed nipple. The Queen moaned, leaves rustling. Thalyn and Kael were pulled together by vines—Thalyn's tongue tracing Kael's ear, Kael's fingers sliding between the elf's thighs. Soft gasps filled the glade.
Rowan thrust harder. The Queen's cunt clenched, milking him. Her vines stroked his balls, teasing the sensitive skin behind. He felt the pressure build—too fast.
"Not yet," the Queen hissed. Vines tightened around his base, staving off release.
Mira straddled the Queen's face now, grinding down. The Queen's tongue—long and flexible—delved deep. Mira cried out, back arching, cunt spasming.
Thalyn had Kael on his back. She rode his cock with elven grace, hips rolling. Kael's hands clutched her ass, eyes wide with awe. When he came, vines caught every drop, funneling it into the moss like an offering.
Rowan's turn again. The Queen bent forward, presenting herself. He took her from behind, cock sliding through slick folds. Her tail of vines wrapped his waist, pulling him deeper. The glade echoed with wet sounds, moans, the rustle of leaves.
When the Queen came, it was with a sound like a storm breaking. Her cunt clamped down, nectar gushing. Vines released Rowan's cock. He thrust once, twice—then spilled inside her, hot pulses that made her shudder and sigh.
The Heartseed materialized in his palm, warm as a heartbeat, glowing soft pink.
The Queen rose, sated. "Debt paid. Take it. And take this…" She pressed a kiss to Rowan's cock, leaving a green mark that tingled. "A gift. You'll know when another hungers."
**Return**
Back at the guild, Lira counted out fifty gold into Rowan's palm. The Dryad's mark glowed faintly beneath his breeches.
Mira clapped his shoulder. "Silver-rank's next, plow-boy. Better rest those hips."
Kael lingered, cheeks pink. "The mark… does it really work?"
Rowan grinned. "Only one way to find out."
That night, in the bronze dorms, Kael's moan echoed down the hall—proof the Dryad's gift was no lie.
The bronze dorms smelled of straw, sweat, and the faint lavender Kael left on the sheets. Rowan woke to sunlight stabbing through the shutters and the Dryad's green mark pulsing like a second heartbeat beneath his skin. It had guided him straight to Kael's bunk the night before: one shy touch, one shared gasp, and the healer had come undone beneath him, thighs trembling around Rowan's ears.
Now the mark was quiet, but the guildhall buzzed.
A new notice dominated the quest board, written in crimson ink that shimmered like fresh blood:
> **DIPLOMATIC ESCORT**
> *Brasshorn Keep. Lord Graz'thul demands entertainment. Reward: 100 gold + succubus favor.*
> *One bronze. Discretion required.*
Rowan's name was already signed. Beneath it, in looping demonic script: **Partner: Veyra Nightshade, Guildmaster.**
Mira whistled low. "Succubus favor's worth more than the gold. You'll be silver-rank by sundown—if you survive."
Thalyn smirked. "Try not to let her drain you *dry*, plow-boy."
Kael just blushed and handed Rowan a small vial. "Stamina tonic. Just in case."
**The Journey to Brasshorn**
Brasshorn Keep crouched atop a volcanic ridge, black stone veined with molten orange. The air stank of sulfur and musk. Veyra met Rowan at the gates: wings like smoked glass, tail flicking, crimson skin glowing in the heat. Her armor was little more than strategically placed leather straps and a smile.
"You're late," she purred, but her eyes devoured him. "The minotaur's already hard. Let's not keep him waiting."
Inside, the great hall was a furnace of flesh and fire. Minotaurs lounged on fur-draped benches, cocks the size of forearms jutting proudly. Serving girls—human, orc, elf—knelt between muscular thighs, mouths working. The Lord himself, **Graz'thul**, sat on a throne of iron and bone. Ten feet tall, furred, horns polished to points. His cock rested against his belly like a war club.
Veyra bowed low. "My lord, your entertainment."
She pushed Rowan forward. The minotaur's nostrils flared.
"Strip," Graz'thul rumbled.
Rowan obeyed. The Dryad's mark flared as every eye in the hall turned to him. Veyra's tail curled around his thigh, guiding him to the throne's dais.
**The Performance**
Veyra knelt first, wings spreading. She took Rowan into her mouth with demonic grace—tongue swirling, throat relaxing until her nose pressed his groin. The hall roared approval. Rowan's hands tangled in her hair, hips rocking. She pulled off with a wet pop, lips glistening.
"My turn," she whispered.
She bent over the throne's arm, presenting herself. Her cunt was slick, flushed dark rose, tail lifted high. Rowan gripped her hips and thrust in. Veyra moaned, loud enough to rattle goblets. Her inner walls rippled, demonic magic stroking every inch of him.
Graz'thul watched, stroking his massive cock. Pre-cum dripped like molten gold.
Veyra pushed back, meeting every thrust. "Harder," she hissed. "Make him *ache*."
Rowan obliged. The slap of skin echoed. Veyra's wings cocooned them, blocking the hall's view—but not the sounds. She came with a scream, cunt clenching, juices dripping down Rowan's balls. The minotaur bellowed, cock throbbing.
Veyra spun, pushing Rowan onto the throne. She straddled him reverse, tail wrapping his balls. "Now," she commanded.
Rowan thrust up. The angle drove deep; Veyra's back arched, breasts bouncing. Graz'thul leaned forward, breath hot on Rowan's neck. The minotaur's hand replaced Veyra's tail, stroking Rowan's shaft as it slid in and out of the succubus.
Rowan's control frayed. The Dryad's mark burned. He felt Veyra's climax building again—felt the minotaur's too. When Veyra came, it was with a demonic shriek, wings flaring. Her cunt milked him mercilessly.
Graz'thul roared. Thick ropes of minotaur cum painted the floor, the throne, Veyra's wings. The scent triggered Rowan—he thrust once more and spilled inside Veyra, pulse after pulse, until she sagged against him, purring.
Silence fell, broken only by heavy breathing.
Graz'thul grunted approval. A servant pressed a wax-sealed treaty into Veyra's hand. "Signed," the minotaur rumbled. "In semen and honor."
**The Reward**
Back at the guild, Lira upgraded Rowan's tag to **silver** without ceremony. Veyra lingered, tail brushing his thigh.
"You'll do," she said. "There's a dragon in the north. Hoard's cursed. Needs a harem's worth of tribute. Interested?"
Rowan's cock twitched. The Dryad's mark pulsed again—pointing north.
"Sign me up."
That night, in the silver dorms, Mira and Thalyn took turns riding his face while Kael watched, stroking himself. The guild's walls were thick, but not thick enough to muffle Rowan's name echoing down the hall.
Silver-rank tasted like cum and ambition.
The quest parchment was nailed to the board with a dagger made of dragon-bone:
> **THE OBSIDIAN WYRM**
> *Northspire Crags. Hoard cursed. Tribute required: one silver-rank, three companions, "a harem's worth of pleasure."*
> *Reward: 500 gold + dragon's favor (and whatever you can carry).*
> *Warning: The wyrm takes what she wants.*
Rowan's name was already inked in Veyra's demonic script. Beneath it: **Mira, Thalyn, Kael**. The succubus had added a postscript: *Bring oil. You'll need it.*
---
## **The Ascent**
Northspire Crags clawed at the sky like blackened fingers. Wind howled through lava tubes. The party climbed single file: Mira scouting, Thalyn guarding the rear, Kael's robes flapping like prayer flags. Rowan's silver新たな tag bounced against his chest with every step.
The Dryad's mark burned hotter the higher they went—until it throbbed in time with his pulse.
At the summit, a cavern yawned wide enough to swallow the guildhall. Inside, rivers of molten gold cooled into rivers of glass. Hoard piles rose like hills: gems, swords, crowns, and—oddly—hundreds of silk pillows.
At the center coiled **Zyraxis**, the Obsidian Wyrm.
She was smaller than legend claimed—thirty feet of sleek black scales, wings folded like midnight cloaks—but her eyes glowed molten amber. A ridge of sapphire spines ran from crown to tail. Between her hind legs, a slit glistened, flushed deep violet, already slick.
"**Mortals**," she rumbled, voice like magma. "**You bring tribute?**"
Veyra had warned them: dragons didn't *ask* for sex. They *demanded* it. Refusal meant becoming part of the hoard—petrified in gold.
Rowan stepped forward. "We bring pleasure. Four bodies. One night. Then the hoard is ours to skim."
Zyraxis lowered her head until one eye filled his vision. "**Prove it.**"
---
## **The Tribute**
The dragon's magic flared. Pillows flew into a nest the size of a house. Clothing dissolved like smoke. Rowan's cock sprang free, the Dryad's mark glowing emerald against his skin. Mira's nipples hardened in the sudden heat. Thalyn's thighs clenched. Kael whimpered, but his erection betrayed him.
Zyraxis shifted, rolling onto her back. Her slit parted, revealing folds the color of twilight. A low growl vibrated the cavern.
"**Begin.**"
Rowan approached first. The dragon's scent was smoke and spice. He pressed his mouth to her slit—tongue tracing the outer lips, then delving inside. Zyraxis rumbled approval. Her tail curled around his waist, lifting him like a toy.
Mira and Thalyn attacked her foreclaws—licking, sucking, stroking scales that turned slick with dragon-oil. Kael knelt between a hind leg, fingers sliding into the dragon's cunt alongside Rowan's tongue. The healer's cock bobbed untouched, leaking.
Zyraxis's first climax hit like an earthquake. Her slit clenched, gushing hot fluid that tasted of cinnamon and lightning. Rowan drank greedily. The dragon's tail tightened, pressing him deeper.
"**More.**"
She flipped him onto the pillows. Her tongue—long, forked, impossibly dexterous—wrapped his cock like a ribbon. Rowan groaned as she sucked, gentle despite her size. Mira straddled his face, grinding down. Thalyn rode his fingers. Kael was pulled into the dragon's mouth—gently—his cock sliding between those deadly fangs as Zyraxis hummed.
The cavern filled with wet sounds, moans, the slap of flesh on scale.
---
## **The Harem's Worth**
Hours blurred.
Rowan took Zyraxis from behind, cock sliding along the groove of her slit while her tail teased his ass (never entering, just circling). Mira and Thalyn scissored atop a hoard pile, gems clinking beneath them. Kael fucked the dragon's tongue, hips jerking as she swallowed his release.
When Zyraxis demanded *all* of them, the dragon's magic lifted them into a floating tangle: Rowan buried in Mira, Mira's mouth on Thalyn, Thalyn's fingers in Kael, Kael's cock in the dragon's slit alongside Rowan's. They moved as one, slick with sweat and dragon-cum.
Zyraxis came with a roar that shook gold from the walls. Her cunt spasmed, milking Rowan and Kael in unison. Mira screamed into Thalyn's cunt. Thalyn bit Kael's shoulder. Kael spilled again, tears of overstimulation on his cheeks.
Rowan's final thrust sent him over—spilling deep inside the dragon's heat, pulse after pulse, until he collapsed against her scales.
---
## **The Aftermath**
Dawn found them sprawled in the nest, coated in gold dust and fluids. Zyraxis lay sated, one wing draped over them like a blanket.
"**Take your skim,**" she murmured, voice sleepy. "**And this.**"
A single obsidian scale detached, shrinking to palm-size. It pulsed with warmth—**Dragon's Favor**.
They filled four sacks: gems, a sword that sang when swung, a crown that granted invisibility once per day. Kael found a healer's staff topped with a ruby that glowed when arousal was near—Rowan's mark had competition.
Back at the guild, Lira counted the gold with raised brows. "Gold-rank by winter, Vale. Keep fucking like that."
That night, in the gold dorms, the party celebrated. Mira rode Rowan reverse while Thalyn sat on his face. Kael took turns between them, the ruby staff glowing like a lantern.
Rowan's cock—still marked by dryad and dragon—throbbed with promise.
Next stop: **Platinum**.